“These reports aren’t in his chart.”
She met my eyes.
“I don’t know.”
The honesty in her answer frightened me more than any explanation could have.
“If someone falsified your husband’s diagnosis, this has become a criminal matter,” she continued.
I swallowed.
She leaned forward. “Don’t let him know you’ve discovered any of this. Because if we’re right, whatever he’s planning hasn’t happened yet.”
“Whatever he’s planning hasn’t happened yet.”
That afternoon I walked back into Ben’s room carrying takeout soup.
He smiled with obvious relief and reached for my hand.
“I’ve been worrying. About what happens after I’m gone…”
A chill went down my spine. “What do you mean?”
He hesitated.
“The paperwork… There’s something you need to sign.”
“What do you mean?”
I kept my face calm.
“What paperwork?”
“The trust release. Joint accounts. Just practical things.” He looked down at the blanket. “If I leave you with a legal mess, I’ll never forgive myself.”
I stared at him.
All I could think about was how this fitted into his terminal diagnosis act.
And whether this had anything to do with the papers I HADN’T seen in that folder.
“Just practical things.”
“You don’t have to think about that today,” I said.
“I do.” His voice became strangely urgent. “I need everything signed tomorrow.”
“So soon?”
“I don’t know how much longer I’ll be thinking clearly.”
I searched his face.
For the first time in twenty years, I wasn’t looking at the boy who carried my backpack.
“I need everything signed tomorrow.”
I was looking at a man who needed my signature more than he needed my love.
“I’ll bring everything tomorrow,” I whispered.
His shoulders relaxed.
“Thank you.”
***
That evening the hospital administrator called me.
“We found something.”
A man who needed my signature
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“We ran a financial disclosure after opening the investigation.”
“And?”
